Immortal
by L Moonshade
Summary: An old friend returns after three years abroad, having undergone a few changes.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything Highlander or West Wing, or I wouldn't be writing this. I don't even own Ren, exactly, since she's a reimagining of Elizabeth Bartlet.

**A/N:** My MethoMuse won't let me rest, so I gave him someone to play with. As I said above, I've completely changed Elizabeth Bartlet's history and, with it, her personality. So, please, no flames for her being OOC. And, if anyone can help me with the title, the one I've got is pretty lousy, but, for once, I couldn't come up with one. **

* * *

****The Four Seasons Hotel, Seacouver, WA**

**September 1996**

Zoey Bartlet flipped through the channels, then put the remote down with a sigh. A moment later, she picked it back up and resumed looking for something to watch.

"Are you all right, Honey?" Jed asked his youngest daughter.

"I'm going to be thirteen in a little while."

"I know. You'll have a great party."

"I'm not going to get the present I want, am I?"

Jed sighed. Three years ago Elizabeth Renee, his oldest daughter, had disappeared. Well, not exactly, the family still received letters, but they didn't know where she was, and hadn't seen her in all that time. Zoey had always loved and looked up to Ren, and missed her terribly.

"I know you want to see her, Sweetie," he said, sitting down next to Zoey. "She does, too. She'll be back when she can be."

"Why did she have to go?"

Jed paused, not sure what to say. Truth was, he didn't understand it, himself. "Ren had a difficult time in Paris. A close friend of hers was murdered and she was nearly killed in the attack, she had a bitter fall out with more friends…She needed time to recover."

"She couldn't come here?"

"I don't know. Maybe she thought we wouldn't understand. In any case, we know she loves us, and she knows we love her. She'll be back when she's ready."

"After three years, she's not?"

"I guess not."

They sat in silence for a moment, then Zoey squirmed out of her father's grip. "Can I go get a soda?"

"You know where the change is."

Zoey grabbed a few coins, then left the room. Jed heaved another sigh; she was only asking the same questions he and Abby had been going over since Ren had left.

"No! Daddy!"

Jed was up and moving before he even had time to think; it hadn't been a shout but a scream of terror. He flung open the door and looked towards the elevators, then to the stairs. Zoey was there, fighting as hard as she could against the man that was carrying her. She was trying to scream, but couldn't through the hand clamped firmly over her mouth.

"Zoey!" Jed yelled, racing after.

The man turned and Jed got a good look at a handsome, boyish face marred by a thick, ropy scar and patch over his right eye. He glared at Jed, then turned, picking up speed.

"Zoey! Someone!"

Jed screamed as he ran but had to stop as he felt his breath getting short. One foot started to droop and he cursed, not now, any other time, but not now! He pushed himself as fast and as hard as he could, but the stress he'd been under lately had caused a flare-up, and the MS was taking its toll. The man, still carrying a struggling Zoey, raced through the door to the stairwell and Jed found one last burst of energy. He forced his tiring legs to just a little more, but it wasn't enough; he couldn't pull his foot up enough and it scraped the floor, sending him tumbling to land with a heavy thud against the fire door, then to the ground.

"Zoey!" he yelled again, the word distorted through his sobs.


	2. Chapter 1

Methos knocked on the hotel room door and waited. A moment later, it was opened by a weary-looking man, though he wasn't exactly alone; there was an official-looking man in a suit just behind him.

"Yes?"

"Governor Bartlet, I'm so sorry. My name is Adam Pierson…"

"Mr. Pierson, please, come in. Have you heard from Ren?"

"Governor?" the other man asked.

"Sorry. This is Detective Cameron Phillips, he's investigating Zoey's abduction. Adam is a friend of my oldest daughter."

"I've got someone trying to reach her."

"Please, sit down. Do you know where she is?"

Methos sat, resting his elbows on his knees, not meeting the Governor's eyes. "Japan, that's all I know. Letters go to and come from a Buddhist monastery, but I don't think she's there. I've made a call to a friend in a nearby town; he's going to stop up there, then call me when he gets back."

"How well do you know her?" Jed asked.

"Very."

"Why did she go?"

Methos shook his head. "It doesn't matter, right now…That'll be my friend." He pulled out his cell-phone. "Hello?" He listened a minute, said, "Thanks," then hung up. "She left a couple of days ago."

"You didn't know?"

"It takes a while for her letters to get here. Did anyone see this guy?"

"The Governor did," Phillips said. "We've got a sketch."

Methos took the drawing and looked at it, finding a young-looking man, face marred by a thick scar and eye patch. The police artist had put a cold, hard look in his eye, making him look evil, despite the boyish cast to the face. Methos shook his head in dismay.

"Don't know him."

"Did you expect to?"

Methos sighed, thinking about the thirteen year old girl who could be anywhere. He glanced at the detective out of the corner of his eye, recognizing a man who noticed everything, and realized he'd have to be careful. "Expect to? No. I had hoped, though."

"Yeah. Didn't we all?"

Methos decided it was time to leave. He didn't like the way Phillips was eyeing him, as if he knew there was more that Methos wasn't saying. In any case, he'd done what he'd come here to do, namely, tell the Bartlets how sorry he was, and tell them what he knew about Ren. He started to say his good-byes, but was interrupted by the buzz that indicated another Immortal; a moment later there was a knock on the door, and his heart contracted.

"Adam, would you…?"

"Of course," he said quietly, going to the door. He opened it, both relieved and dismayed to see who it was.

"Ren," he said warmly, wrapping his arms around her.

"Adam," she said, relief evident in her voice. "Or, is it Methos?"

He nearly laughed, not surprised that she'd figure it out. "Yes. But, you know me. You know me."

She relaxed and Methos held her for a moment, before pulling back a little. "Let me see," he said, concerned. When she'd left she'd been a lost little girl, reeling from deaths of and rejection by friends. Now, though, she was tan and fit, moving like a cat, all power and deadly grace, a hard look in her eyes. "You look good," he said, and meant it; this was a woman who wouldn't easily lose her head. "Whatever you need, Little Prophet, I'll help." He gave her a quick peck on the cheek, then stepped aside so she could come in.

"Ren," Jed sobbed, getting to his feet.

"Oh, Dad, we'll find her."

Father and daughter embraced, holding each other for a long moment before parting.

"Where's Mom?"

"In the bedroom," Jed said, nodding. "Sedated. She's a wreck."

"I'm sure." Ren glanced around the room, her eyes finally settling on Phillips. "Detective?"

"Cameron Phillips," he confirmed. "How long have you been back?"

"About an hour," she admitted, shaking the hand he offered. "I was off the plane for all of ten minutes before I heard the news. What happened?" she said, sitting down. Methos sat next to her, while Jed sat on her other side.

"Zoey went out to the vending machines for a soda," Jed said. "Your mom was in the shower…I heard a scream and ran out, just in time to see a man carrying Zoey to the stairwell. I tried to chase him, but he was too fast."

"Did you get a look at him?"

"We have an artist's drawing, based on your father's description," Phillips said, handing Ren a sketch.

Looking at it, Ren felt a moment of supreme anger, then let it go, knowing better than to let it control her.

"Do you know him?" Phillips asked, watching her closely.

"I've been in seclusion in Japan for the past three years. The closest I've gotten to civilization is the letters I sent to Adam." She heaved a sigh. "I need to find a room, get washed up, grab some food…"

"Go," Jed said. "I'll let your mother know you're back."

"Okay." She gave her father a kiss, then stood. "We'll find her," she said again.

"I should go, too," Methos said.

"Thank you for all you've done for this family, Adam," Jed said, offering his hand.

Methos shook it. "You're welcome," he said graciously. There was no point in telling the other man that he'd done it for Ren, not the family. If Jed didn't know it, he didn't need to.

"I need to stop in at the precinct," Phillips said. "I'll be in touch, Governor."

"Thank you, Detective."

As the three moved to the elevator, Phillips saw the care they had for each other, and was almost sorry to have to do this in front of the other man. But, not quite. He was convinced that, like Ren, Methos knew more than he was saying.

Phillips spoke as soon as the elevator doors closed in front of them. "Who is he?"

Ren raised an eyebrow. "Detective…"

"She was taken the same day that you arrived. I'm not willing to believe that's coincidence."

"There have been no demands?"

He wasn't happy with the way she diverted the issue, but, it was a legitimate concern. "No. There will be, though."

"Unless he's going to use her," Methos said evenly.

"That's true," Phillips admitted. "But, I don't think that's the case, do you?" It was a rhetorical question, really; he could see that neither one of them believed it for a moment. He angrily hit the stop button, bringing the cab to a halt. "The best way to help Zoey is to tell me what you know!"

Ren met his gaze evenly. "The best way to help her is to give him what he wants."

"And, what's that?"

"Me," she said, then started the elevator again.

The detective was stunned. "Do you have a death wish? Do you _want_ your sister dead?" He heaved a sigh and handed her a card. "If you decide you want to talk, give me a call."

Ren tucked the card into a pocket, but said nothing until they reached the ground floor and the car slowed. "You think I don't know what I'm doing, you want to protect me, and I do appreciate that. Just keep in mind one thing."

"What's that?"

She smiled grimly. "I'm the one who took his eye," she said, then stepped off as the doors opened.

Phillips hurried out, trying to catch her, but she faded into the crowd too well. He turned to find Methos, convinced the man would lead him to Ren, but he'd disappeared, too. Phillips cursed, making his way to the parking garage, hoping to find them there.

He did, and watched as they took bags from one car before going to another, a dark SUV. They put the bags into that vehicle, got in, then took off. Phillips raced for his car, not far off, and followed them out.

Methos had one question, to which he thought he already knew the answer, but it would wait just another moment. "Mac's in Paris, but Joe's around. Why don't we stop by? He'll want to see you."

"That's fine."

"Ren? Do you know him?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, I do."


	3. Flashback: Japan

Shintogo Kunimitsu's mountain, Japan 

**August, 1996**

Ren stood over the fresh grave, head bowed. She understood why Master had forced her to take his head—and it had been a glorious fight!—but it didn't make the loss of him any easier for her. She had done as he'd asked, though, burying his daisho with him. She would have liked to have the two swords as a memento, but there was no point, not really. Ren had her own set, made under Master's guidance, the only weapons she'd use, and she had too much respect to collect them just for display.

Ren finished paying her last respects, then made her way down the mountain to the cabin she had shared with Master and, for a while, her fellow student. Like her and their master, Yves Lajeune was an Immortal. She'd known about Immortals—when she'd graduated from school, she'd joined the Watchers, a group that chronicled their lives—and had quickly recognized Lajeune for what he was. Ren hadn't known about herself, though. Oh, she'd known there was a possibility, she was adopted, after all, but she hadn't known for certain. Not until Lajeune had killed her.

Back in the cabin, she paused to look around. This had been her home for three years and she'd be sorry to say goodbye, but her training was done, and it was time to leave.

As she cast her eyes around the modest room, she spotted a katana on the mantle, along with a letter, items that hadn't been there when she'd left. What she read shocked her; Master had transferred the deed for the property to her. The katana, a product of Masamune, one of her master's earlier students, was also for her, to do with what she wished. She sighed, still aching from loss, but happy, as well. She would sell the katana, then use the proceeds to hire a woman from the nearby village to care for the cabin and garden, allowing her to use it for a retreat. Ren took the letter and katana and went into her room to pack her few belongings. She marveled at the small number of items; the katana, a few clothes, her daisho, and a few rice paper scrolls. There was nothing there from her former life.

She was nearly done when she felt the tell-tale buzz of another Immortal. She took her katana out of the bag; there was no doubt in her mind who this Immortal was, or that she'd need her blade.

"I want Kunimitsu!" Lajeune shouted.

Ren stood, tucking the sword into the sash she wore, and made her way out to the front of the cabin. "Master is dead."

Lajeune started circling her, a wicked grin on his face. "Good," he said, his voice quiet menace. "Give me his daisho."

"I buried them with him."

"Then, tell me where you buried him."

"No."

He drew his sword. "I will have the daisho."

Ren rested one hand on the hilt of the katana, her other holding the sheath, sliding the sword up a bit. "I won't tell you where they are."

He shouted and rushed forward, but he'd forgotten how good a student Ren was, didn't know she'd taken Kunimitsu's head. She pulled the sword and sheath apart to draw the blade, struck, flicked the blood off, and sheathed her sword again, all in one, fluid motion. Her sword was back in its saya before Lajeune realized he'd been injured and cried out.

"You ran, last time," she said, calm and centered. "Are you going to finish what you started?"

Lajeune raised his hand to his cheek, where bone had been laid bare by her cut, where his eye had been ruined by the tip of her sword. He looked at the gore on his fingers, then lifted his face, pale with terror, to look at her. Ren wasn't surprised when he turned and ran.

Ren, weary, body and soul, from burying her master, let him go, certain that Lajeune had learned his lesson, that he wouldn't be back.


	4. Chapter 2

"How long since he killed you?" Methos asked. He and Ren were on their way to Joe's bar, where they'd talk over more important issues. Until then, he'd start to get caught up with his friend's life.

"A couple of years." She glanced over at him. "Methos," she said, voice filled with wonder. "I was right."

He frowned. When they'd first met, he'd been on the Methos Chronicles, and she'd told him how much she'd like to meet him. "Right about what?"

"You're a fascinating man to talk to."

Methos smiled warmly and pulled into the parking lot for Joe's bar. The place was closed but Joe, the owner, was a Watcher, and had his office in the back. He spent most of his time here, and was always open for his friends.

He was behind the bar at the moment, and looked up when they came in. "Hey, Old…Ren?"

"Hey, Joe."

His bearded face broke into a wide grin and, grabbing his cane, he limped out to give her a hug. "How are you doing? You look great."

"I'm good. Ready to take heads, but I'm fine."

Joe pulled back. "Take…You're Immortal?"

"Yeah. Two years, now."

"Man. Something to drink?"

"Ice water's fine, thanks."

"Beer, M…Adam?"

"She knows my name. What else would I have?"

Joe nodded, a bemused smile on his face, as he got his friends their drinks.

"Are you going to put someone on me?" Ren asked, sitting at a table.

"Not until the Watchers find out. I'm sorry about your sister."

"Yeah, about that. I need to talk to you."

"Should I call Duncan?"

"No, he'd just get in the way. He'd blame himself for it, somehow, and rush in to finish it."

"Yep," Joe said to Methos. "She still knows him."

"Helps that he hasn't changed."

"That doesn't surprise me. Well, this time, finishing it is _my_ job. I was at the monastery for only a few months before another foreigner showed up. Not long after that, Master Kunimitsu came in for supplies, taking both of us with him when he left." Ren chuckled without humor and shook her head. "If this were a story, it'd be horribly cliché. He called himself Lajeune, and, he was bad."

"How bad?"

"Dark Side, Vader bad. Killing his fellow student, bad. Kunimitsu was Shintogo Kunimitsu, the man who taught one of Japan's most revered sword smiths the craft. He created daisho that, legend has it, is magical. That's what Lajeune was after, not training." She glanced over at Joe. "He's Immortal."

"What happened?"

"He tried to take the daisho. Master and I stopped him, though I died in the process. Years later, once my training was done, Master forced me to take his head, and I buried him with the daisho, just as he'd asked. I had buried him then finished packing, when Lajeune arrived, threatening me. Of course, I refused to tell him where Master was buried, so we fought; I took his eye, he ran. When I got back here and saw what'd happened to Zoey, I had a sinking feeling that it was too coincidental."

"You didn't keep the daisho?"

"I didn't need to." Ren reached into her jacket and pulled out both a katana and a wakizashi. Methos let out a low whistle. They were simple and obviously made to be used, but there was a deep beauty to them, as well; red with simple designs in black and silver.

"They're beautiful," Methos said.

"According to Mac, a matched daisho is rare," Joe said.

"Extremely," Ren agreed. "I made these with Master's guidance."

Joe nodded slowly, then looked back at Ren. "Lajeune, you said?"

"Yves, yes."

Joe stood. "I'll check the Watcher database."

"Thanks, Joe."

"Anything to help. You going to hang around?"

"I'm going to take her back to the loft so she can rest."

"I'll call you there if I find something."

As Ren and Methos left, Phillips, watching through binoculars nearly a block away, nodded, pleased. Maybe now they'd get somewhere. He waited until they drove off a little ways before starting his own car and following.

Ren shook her head. "For their sake, there had better not be anyone assigned to him," she growled.

"If there is, save some for me. You've changed. I think, though, that you're more yourself than you ever have been."

"You're right."

"What about your dreams?"

"Past life. Master taught me how to access them and incorporate them into my training. I know, not even you can believe that."

Methos snorted. "In five thousand years, I've seen too much evidence not to," he said. "I just didn't think we could have them."

"A lost Quickening reborn? That was Master's theory, and it sounds plausible to me, but, we may never know for sure."

"Probably not. Past life as what?"

He listened with growing wonder as Ren told her story, deciding that it explained why her Quickening held the same sense of peace and serenity that Darius had possessed. When she finished he shook his head, amazed. "Little Prophet, indeed. Are you angry? That I didn't tell you who I am?"

"No." She sounded shocked at the thought. "You didn't know me well enough and, to be honest, I'm not sure I could have handled it."

"Now that you do know, I want to thank you. You're the first person I've met in centuries who has let me just be myself."

She smiled warmly. "I'm glad I could do that for you, and I'm glad you took advantage of it. I happen to like who you are a great deal."

There was a moment of comfortable silence, which he broke. "You'll like the loft," he said, changing the subject. "I'm staying at MacLeod's while he's gone."

"Does he know?"

"Yes," Methos said, indignant. "Not that he invited me to, but he knows."

Ren laughed. "Methos," she said warmly.

"What?"

"Nothing. I just love the way your name sounds."

He smiled and glanced at her. She had a nice build, now that she'd lost weight and become fit, but she'd never win any contests; a broken and badly-healed nose and scars from glass, hot wax, and swords marred whatever beauty had been there, but he had a revelation. "You're beautiful."

"You're sweet, but you need your eyes checked."

"No. You're lovely, and always have been. You were so sorry to lose Darius, but…Whether you received just a bit of his Quickening due to being pre-Immortal, or if he simply affected you so profoundly, I don't know. But, he's not totally gone. Not with you around."

Ren smiled, showing a bit of the inner beauty Methos had seen. "Thank you. That's one of the best compliments I've ever gotten."

Methos started to respond, but something caught his eye. "We're being followed."

"Phillips?"

"Yes. Do you want me to lose him?"

Ren started to say yes, then paused. "I'm not sure," she said slowly. "No. Not yet, anyhow."

"You're in charge." Then, pulling into the parking lot for the building, "Honey, we're home."

Once in the loft over Duncan's dojo, Ren went immediately to the shower to wash the dust and travel off. Methos knew the moment she stepped into the water; she let out a huge sigh of relief and comfort that echoed through the room.

"Feels good, does it?"

"One of the two things I've missed the most. The other being coffee."

"Good thing I've been staying here, then," Methos chuckled. "I'll put some on."

"Wonderful."

It was nearly an hour later before Ren stepped out of the shower, wearing a long shift. "Wow, it smells good out here."

"I thought you may be hungry. Omelets, English muffins, bacon, and coffee."

"Oh you darling, wonderful man."

Methos watched her a moment. "Do you remember when we first met?"

She smiled fondly. "I couldn't forget."


	5. Flashback: Paris

**Church of St Julien le Pauvre, Paris, France **

**October 1989**

As Methos stepped into the chapel, he could sense Darius. There was a soft voice from the confessional, though, so he went back to Darius' office to wait, surprised to find a girl there. No, he amended, taking a closer look, a young woman, though he figured she didn't have much life experience. "I'm sorry," he siad in French. "I was going to wait for Darius."

Ren glanced up. He was tall and slim, dressed in jeans and over-sized sweater, with short, brown hair. He looked non-descript, or, would have, without the slim face, prominent cheekbones, and nose like the prow of a ship. Though, Ren reflected, saying it that way made him seem ugly when, really, the nose suited his face well.

"You must be Adam. He asked me to keep you company until he's done in confession."

"Thank you. Would you prefer speaking in English?" he asked, settling into an extra chair.

"French is fine."

"But, your accent needs work," he said in English, smiling broadly, the expression reflected in his eyes.

Ren smiled back. "I haven't been here long enough to get rid of the accent," she responded in the same language. "Ren Bartlet."

"Adam Pierson," he said, taking the hand she offered. "School? What are you studying?"

"Philosophy, comparative religion, and ancient languages."

"What one?"

"Hieratic, Coptic, and Sumerian."

"Impressive. It's a good cover, too."

Ren frowned, until Methos pulled up the sleeve of his sweater, just enough for her to see the curve of a circle, tattooed in black ink on the inside of his left forearm. The mark that identified the Watchers; Ren had one, too.

"Oh. You won't…"

He smiled warmly. "You're not the first to become friends with her assignment, and I doubt you'll be the last. Who introduced themselves, first?"

"He did."

Methos nodded. "Then, it's a good thing you are friends; he only approaches people who need what he has to teach. It's like pets, really."

Now, Ren was really confused. "What do you mean?"

"You know how pets and owners take on each other's traits? It's the same way with Watchers and their Immortals. You could have done far worse than Darius."

"I know, I've heard stories. Who's your assignment? Are you like them, at all?"

"No," he said, smiling. "I'm in research. It's hard to pick up traits of Immortals from paper."

"Are you studying anyone in particular?"

"Methos."

"Oh," she said, excited, "Methos! Have you gotten anywhere?"

He laughed. "Ah, you've heard that name, have you?"

"Is there a Watcher who hasn't? I'd love to talk to him."

"Tap the font of wisdom?" Methos asked, suddenly testy. He hated people who wanted him to be someone profound.

"Please, I'm Darius' Watcher, I've got all the wisdom I need right here. I'd love to know, what was it like? And, his view of the world must be fascinating."

He blinked, stunned. "You'd like to meet the world's oldest man, just to talk?"

She smiled wryly. "Yeah. Pretty silly, huh?"

Methos grinned, an expression of pure joy. "No, not really. Actually, I think he'd like that."

Darius listened to his friends chat, a smile on his face. He knew that Ren would have left him and Methos alone regardless of how sincerely he'd invited her to join them, knew that Methos needed to meet someone who had no expectations of the world's oldest man. So, Darius had invented the confessional, and would gladly do penance later.

Methos, sensing Darius' presence, glanced at the door. But, when he said nothing, Darius turned and went back into the chapel to study and prepare for Sunday's sermon.

Hours later, the two came into the chapel, laughing.

I'm sorry, I monopolized Adam's time, Ren said when she saw the priest.

Darius smiled. That's all right, I had people and duties to attend to. Adam.

I'll be back, I'm just going to see Ren to her car.

I'll see you tomorrow, Darius.

I look forward to it.

Once Ren had left, Methos came back into the chapel.

Thank you, he said as the two men embraced. She was a delight.

I thought you'd get along. What did you talk about?

Methos laughed. Everything. It's been too long since I could truly be myself.

Darius frowned, concerned. You didn't tell her?

No! Methos was truly shocked at the idea. As much as she'd like to know, neither one of us are ready.

Darius nodded. That, my friend, is a relief. Will you join me for dinner?

They, too, spent hours talking about everything until, Methos finally decided it was time for him to leave.

Before you go, one last thing. Darius stood and went to his desk, drawing a letter out of a drawer. Four years from today. Would you bring this here for my little prophet?

Methos paused. Of course, he said slowly. He wanted to ask Darius why he couldn't do it, but he was a coward and afraid of the answer. I'll be here.

Thank you. Godspeed, my friend.

And you.

The men embraced again, Methos' heart contracting painfully. He didn't have Darius' foresight, but this felt far too much like a final goodbye.

Darius watched the ancient Immortal leave. His heart, too, ached, knowing the pain that would befall Ren, knowing the pain Methos would feel when he couldn't help.

But, you will, and you have, he murmured. More than you know.


	6. Chapter 3

"I meant what I said," Methos told her. "I did like it, that you just wanted to talk, more than I could say without telling you who I was. You're done," he said, noticing her empty plate. "I'll clean up. You get some sleep."

She stood, offering him a warm smile, and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you for everything, Methos."

"You're welcome."

Methos waited until Ren was asleep before cleaning up. So much had changed, but so much about her had stayed the same. Methos wondered if her parents would feel that way, or if he just didn't see the changes because he'd been in contact with her over the years. After he finished with the dishes, he grabbed one of MacLeod's many books and tried to read it. He made some headway, though his eyes kept straying to the woman in the bed nearby.

It was the ringing phone that woke Ren, hours after she'd finally gone to sleep. She groaned as Methos answered.

"Hello?…Yeah, Joe, go ahead…Uh huh…Right. I'll let her know. Thanks," Methos said, then slowly hung up.

"I'm awake," Ren grumbled.

"Yves Lajeune is a young Immortal; only a couple of years older than you. His father was a business man in Japan, where Lajeune was raised. A rival hired an arsonist, which is what killed him."

Ren winced. "No wonder he's crazy."

"That's what the Watchers think."

"He's got one, doesn't he?"

Methos sat next to her on the bed and took her hand. "Yeah, he does. I'm sorry. They've failed you at every turn, and it's not right."

"Did Joe tell you where he is?"

"Yes. We can leave whenever you're ready. Are we letting Phillips tag along?"

"Him, yes. Anyone else, ditch 'em. I need to eat and meditate; my mind's too troubled to go as is."

"I'll make dinner, while you're centering."

Ren got up and dressed, then settled on the bed for meditation. Once she'd centered she grabbed the daisho and ran through a kata to warm up before putting them in her coat. She didn't like hiding them like that, but America wasn't rural, isolated Japan, and she had no choice. Only once she was ready, did she settle down to eat, she and Methos sharing the meal in comfortable silence, not needing to say anything, just enjoying each other's presence. Then, they left.

"It's Phillips," Methos said after a few blocks.

"Good. When you get Zoey, get her out of there."

"I'll take her to the hospital. Just to make sure."

"Thank you. If she hesitates, show her the Watcher's mark. She's seen my tat on more than one occasion, and know they're friends. For the most part."

"I'll remember. You're sure you don't want me to stay?"

"I want Zoey well out of the way. I'll get a ride with Phillips."

"If he doesn't shoot you before you kill Lajeune."

"I don't think so," she said slowly. "I'm not sure why, but I don't think he will."

Methos pulled up to the warehouse and they got out, knowing Phillips would easily catch up. They moved cautiously, unable to see Lajeune, but, as they neared the building, they sensed the buzz. Once inside they paused, trying to determine where he'd be then, with unspoken consent, they headed to the central room.

Lajeune was there with Zoey, a dagger to the girl's throat. She tried to cry out, but Lajeune pressed the point in, just enough to draw forth a drop of blood, and she stilled. Methos had come prepared and surreptitiously took a throwing knife in hand. Next to him, Ren remained a picture of calm.

"I'm here, Lajeune," she said, not a waver to her voice. "Let Zoey go."

"Hmm, no, I don't think so."

Methos threw and the blade stuck in Lajeune's throat. The other Immortal stumbled back, letting go of Zoey, then collapsed, dead.

Zoey ran into Ren's arms. "Hey, Sweetheart, you've been so brave. You go with Adam, okay? He'll keep you safe."

The girl shied away from him, but Methos put on his most charming smile and showed her his Watcher's tattoo. "I'm one of the good guys, I promise."

Zoey threw her arms around Ren. "I love you."

"I love you, too. Go on, now."

"Be careful, Little Prophet," Methos said, then took Zoey and carried her out of there.

Ren glanced into the shadows where Phillips was just emerging as she approached Lajeune's body. "Detective."

"You did it. I'm impressed."

"Not yet. If you're not ready for your world view to be turned upside-down, you'd best leave." Ren took the knife out and tossed it aside, then stepped back.

"He's dead," Phillips said, moving closer.

"Stop," Ren said, so forcefully that he obeyed on instinct, alone. "He's not dead for long."

Phillips didn't know what to do. The girl was safe and the perp was dead, so, why were they hanging around? "All right, then," he said, humoring her. "What happens when he wakes up?"

Ren took off her trench coat and drew her katana. "I finish what he started."

This was going too far. "Okay, that's enough…" Phillips began, but a deep gasp stopped him. Lajeune sat up and looked at Ren with amusement.

"You should have taken my head when you had the chance," he said, getting to his feet.

"Honorable combat, not murder."

Lajeune drew his own sword and removed his long coat. "Your head is mine."

Phillips stepped forward, ready to protest, but neither one of the combatants would have heard; they met in the center of the room with the ringing of steel on steel.

"They're Immortal," a voice said from behind. "They fight amongst each other until there's only one left."

Phillips turned to see a small woman, then looked back to the fight. "How does that work, if they're Immortal?"

"Beheading does it permanently. Ren, an Immortal. Who would have thought?"

"You know her?"

"Of her. She used to be a Watcher. We chronicle the lives of Immortals, but never interfere."

She knew? This woman knew where Zoey was, and hadn't said anything, hadn't called the police? "Why didn't you tell us where Zoey was?"

"I can't interfere in Immortal…"

"This has nothing to do with their fight! Is Zoey Immortal? Then, it has nothing to do with…Oh, forget it." Phillips was angrier than he'd ever been. How dare this woman? He wanted nothing more than to arrest her, but it'd have to wait; if Ren didn't survive, he'd have to take Lajeune out. At least now, he mused, he knew how to do it. The fight was getting hot and heavy, the combatants moving faster than anything he'd ever seen. Well, he amended, Ren was. As much as he hated the woman standing next to him, he couldn't help but comment.

"I'm no expert, but he looks completely outclassed."

"He is," she said, as shocked as Phillips.

Lajeune, in a fit of desperation, pinned Ren and her sword against the wall. "What now?" he asked, an evil grin on his face.

"I carry daisho," she said, pulling the wakizashi from her belt and driving it into his heart.

Lajeune stumbled back in pain and shock; without hesitation, Ren swung her katana through his neck. The head rolled, Lajeune's body fell, and Phillips could hardly credit what he was seeing, even with what he'd witnessed so far. Light, like static electricity, flared around the neck, becoming stronger and more frequent. Next to him, the woman started to leave, but Phillips grabbed her arm. Then, all hell broke loose. Lightning flared, traveling from the body to windows, walls, catwalks, and Ren. She was in the center of the storm, screaming and crying out as electricity struck her, again and again.

Finally, the explosions slowed, lessened, stopped, leaving Ren on her knees, doubled over. She remained there for a moment, then stood, grabbed her katana, and strode over to the two mortals. The woman gasped and even Phillips was taken aback; he didn't know Ren well, if at all, but he'd seen her as a calm, caring woman, and this wasn't her. Her eyes seethed with anger and hatred and evil intent.

"No, Elizabeth," Phillips said, reaching for his gun when she didn't stop. It was the last thing he wanted to do, and he wouldn't kill her for good if he could at all avoid it, but he figured a temporary death may shock some sense into her. He wracked his brains; what was it that her friend had called her?

"Honorable combat, not murder," he said, desperately throwing her words back at her. Then, he remembered. "Not murder, Little Prophet."

The anger and hate in her eyes flared even brighter and Phillips was afraid he'd said the wrong thing, but it died down and she stopped.

"Thank you," the woman breathed. "She was going to kill me."

Phillips looked at her with contempt. "I stopped her for her sake, not yours."

Ren closed her eyes and Phillips could almost see her finding her center. After a moment, she retrieved the scabbard and sheathed the sword.

"What's your name?" she asked the woman, returning to them.

"Anne Turner," the Watcher said, shrinking back against Phillips.

The detective wasn't worried anymore, able to see that Ren had control of herself. There was determination in her eyes, but no murder.

"Well, Ms Turner, you can deliver a message for me. You can tell the Tribunal that, if I ever hear of anything like this happening again, I will run roughshod over them, until there is nothing left. Watchers swear not to interfere with _Immortals_. What happened to that little girl had nothing to do with the Game."

"You were a Watcher, you saw what happened to Darius, how can you ask us to interfere?"

"I stopped being a Watcher when they turned their backs on me. The Tribunal has forgotten their humanity. Tell them. I've been on the receiving end of their callousness twice, that's all the chance they get."

Phillips let Turner go and she ran. He watched her leave, heaving a deep sigh.

"Obstruction of justice, stalking, accessory after the fact, I'm sure I could have come up with more."

"It's okay, the scare she got will make sure she delivers my message. Thank you, Detective. What you said was probably the only thing that would have brought me back to myself."

"What happened? That wasn't you."

"No. Lajeune was an evil, insane man, and taking his Quickening like that, it almost overwhelmed me. It's only the second I've had, and I wasn't ready. Just, don't ever call me that, again. Adam's the only one who can get away with it."

Phillips smiled. "Duly noted. I want answers."

"I'm sure you do. There are too many for the time being; I need to let Adam know I'm all right and see my family."

"I'll drive you to the hospital."

"Thanks, I knew you would. Do you know where Joe's is?"

"The blues bar? I love that place."

"Meet me there tomorrow, say, three. We'll explain it, then."

Phillips led her out to his car. "Who's 'we?'"

"Adam, for one, and Joe, a Watcher. Not all of them are like that."

"I certainly hope not."

"Thanks for the ride, Detective. And for not shooting me."

"Anytime. Call me Cam."


	7. Epilogue

Cam listened without comment as Ren, Methos, and Joe explained Immortals and Watchers, the Game and how it would end. Cam hadn't found the need to ask any questions; apparently the men had gone through the story numerous times and knew how to tell it. 

After a long moment, Cam turned his gaze from his beer to the Immortals. "So, even though you're friends, if it came down to the two of you…"

Methos fell back in his chair and took a deep pull of beer, not meeting anyone's eye. "I don't know," he said wearily. "It's not something I like to think about."

"It's not a favorite topic of mine, either. Most of my friends are Immortal."

"I'm sorry," Cam said. The pain was obvious in Methos' eyes, as was the man's age; centuries weighed on him.

Methos smiled broadly, and the years melted away. "Don't be. The loss hurts, but everything that leads up to it is worth it. It's what you have while you have it that makes life worth while."

"How old are you?"

"Old enough that it doesn't matter, anymore."

"That woman, Turner, said you'd been a Watcher, Ren?"

"I was, once," Ren said, pulling up the sleeve on her left arm. The skin there was smooth and clear, not showing any indication of having been inked.

"Nice removal."

Ren winced. "Acid, just before my first death, which is why it healed so cleanly."

Cam shook his head. "When you broke with them, you didn't fool around."

"Blame me?"

"Not in the least."

"The question now is," Joe said, "what will you do with this?"

"I won't investigate any beheadings as carefully as I might," Cam said dryly.

"Good man," Joe laughed. "We can always use more Watchers…"

"No. I'm not interested."

"I would have thought you would be," Methos said. "Cops are usually the most eager."

"No, for two reasons. One, I leave next month to join the Secret Service. I've wanted it since I was five, and I will not let myself be compromised in any way. And, two, after what I saw last night and heard today, I have no respect for your organization. Hell, I'd expose you, if it wouldn't hurt some good people," Cam said, nodding to Ren and Methos. "I can get along with you, Joe, but as a person, not a Watcher."

"I know. That's exactly why we need you, so badly."

Cam was quiet for a long moment. "I'll think about it," he finally said. Then, turning to Ren, "What about you? How are you dealing with Lajeune's Quickening?"

"It's settled, finally. I just need to deal with the darkness."

"How's that work?"

"Lots of meditation," she and Methos said at the same time, then laughed.

"I have some experience with a dark soul myself," Methos continued softly. "I'll help her along."

"What about Zoey? I know she wasn't hurt beyond a few scrapes and bruises, but, how is she handling the psychological aspect of it?"

"She'll be fine. Mom and Dad are setting her up with a counselor, but she's doing well."

"It helps having her big sister back," Joe grinned. "She dotes on you."

Ren grinned back. "Yeah. I know. When they go back to Manchester, I'm going with. Spend some time with my family."

Cam nodded. "That's good to hear. Well, I've got to go make my report. Paperwork, gotta love it."

Joe raised his glass. "Amen to that."

"It was nice meeting you folks." Cam grinned like a little boy. "You just put some of the magic and wonder back into my world." He finished his beer and stood. "Good luck."

"Thanks. Hang on, though, I'll walk you out. I'm having dinner with the family. I'll see you later?" she asked Methos.

"Of course."

Methos and Joe watched as the other two left. Once they were gone, Methos heaved a sigh.

"There's no way, Joe," he said. "There's no way I can take her head."

"Yeah. You want another beer?"

"No, thanks." Methos drained his mug. "I'm feeling generous. I'm going to go shopping."

"Have fun."

Methos smiled. "I will," he said happily. "I'm thinking a display stand for her daisho. Later."

Joe watched Methos go with a smile of his own, wondering yet again how self-serving Methos really was.

* * *

A/N: Okay, people, I know you've been reading, someone tell me what you think, even if you think it's terrible. Please?  



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